Little Black Submarines
by Professor Maka
Summary: This is a song inspired collection of shorts. Most will be centered on Soul and Maka, but other characters will be included as well. These range from AU to canon, and there will be some SoMa involved. The newest, "Horse and I," is a fantasy AU.
1. Little Black Submarines

**A/N: This is the first in a series of shorts inspired by music. I loved the title "Little Black Submarines" for the collection, so I centered the first short on that song. These will range from canon to AU, and while most will center on Soul and Maka, they will occasionally feature other characters. If you give me a song suggestion, I may or may not use it depending on whether or not it sparks an idea. These are not song fics, simply song inspired; I wanted to do a drabble collection to work out smaller ideas, and I thought one inspired by music seemed fitting for ****_Soul Eater_****. I hope you enjoy them.**

**Neither "Little Black Submarines" nor ****_Soul Eater_**** belong to me. Happy reading. **

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**Little Black Submarines:**

_Little black submarines  
Operator please  
Put me back on the line  
Told my girl I'd be back  
Operator please  
This is wreckin' my mind_

The truth was, he wasn't sure whether or not he was dead. He would fall asleep only to wake up in another dream or vision or memory or nightmare or sometimes just the black void he was stuck in now, a wasteland of nothing and no one. Was this what death looked like? Was it heaven? Surely not. Hell, then. It had to be hell, because where else would he see _that? _ He'd never believed he was a bad person. Maybe crude sometimes. Maybe selfish plenty. But he also fought kishin and helped to protect people. He'd also given his life for his meister, and he knew she wasn't a bad person—she was probably the best person he knew. Didn't that count for something?

Apparently not. Maybe he hadn't saved her, maybe that was the problem. She hadn't run, the idiot. He knew she hadn't run and so she was probably dead, too. She was dead, he had failed, and here he was, stuck in hell or limbo or his own head, who could tell the difference? Did the difference really matter anyway? Whether one or none of these were true, he was still trapped.

How long had he even been here? It felt like days, maybe, but he didn't know, couldn't tell, and the visions made it even harder. It could have been a lifetime or a few moments for all he really knew. He just wanted out, to know at the very least that she was okay, that he didn't fail, that for once in his miserable life he had done something right. Because, yeah, maybe his life was worth less than shit, but hers wasn't and he wanted to know that he hadn't fucked that up, too. Maybe he'd never been much of a pianist, never been able to match up to the great Evans name, but he sure as shit wasn't going to fail as a weapon.

Except he had, right? Isn't that what that dream was, the one he kept having, the one where he kept tearing out of Maka? That had to be it. She had to be dead, they both had to be dead. Even as a weapon he was a fuckup. Some cool guy he had turned out to be. Cool guys, cool weapons, were able to protect their partners. All he had done is died for nothing.

Maybe this was Limbo after all. The visions of his childhood weren't so bad. Sure, they reminded him of what an utter failure he had always been, but he loved his brother, he loved his grandmother, hell, he even loved his micromanaging, overprotective, perfectionist parents. His life hadn't been so bad, not really. Okay, it had been boring and tedious and he'd always felt like a distant second to his brother, never good enough, valued only for being an Evans and his lackluster potential on the piano, but never just for being Soul. There was that. There were reasons, good reasons, why finding out he was a weapon had been his golden ticket out. And being a weapon, that was great. He was a good weapon, not a failure. He and Maka had collected 99 souls—he had been a hairsbreadth from becoming a Death Scythe if not for Blair. He kicked ass as a scythe, didn't he? Only he didn't, not really, because he had fucked up and here he was. Maybe this was where all weapons went who couldn't quite hack it, who fucked up so astronomically, who failed to protect their meisters. Not cool. Not cool at all.

For the thirtieth or maybe the thirty thousandth time, he screamed his frustration. He needed to get out of here. He hated it here, hated waiting for the next memory or nightmare, hated the loneliness of it, wanted to see Maka and make sure she was okay. This uncertainty, this total isolation, it really was hell, wasn't it?

"So," he was startled, no shocked, to find another person speaking. "You want out, do you?"

"Who the hell?" he whipped around in the void, looking for the source of that strange, grating voice. This had to be another vision because he was always alone in the void.

"Where are you?" He cried out.

"Right behind you," and the voice did sound close. He whipped around and suddenly the void wasn't a void and standing in front of him was, perhaps, the oddest creature he'd ever seen and he'd seen a thing or two what with fighting so many kishin. It had a huge red head, and sharp, sharp teeth. It looked like a demon. Only, oddly, it was wearing a suit. Ah. So this really was hell. Apparently, hell needed an interior decorator because the checkered floor, heavy curtains, and worn furniture were tacky and dated. He heard some bad jazz start to play and figured everything in hell would be subpar. It was _hell_.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm you," the red thing said with a vicious, toothy smile. "In a manner of speaking."

"You don't look like me and I'm pretty sure I don't talk to myself."

"Ah, but you do now, it seems. Would you feel better if we looked more alike?"

"No." The demon-thing shrugged in response.

"Suit yourself. It's not really the point, anyway. The point is that you said you wanted out of here. You do, right?"

"Of course I do. Who the hell would want to be stuck in this tacky shithole?"

"Well, then. I'm going to help you out, for free, just this once. After all, if _you_ don't wake up, it will be impossible for _us_ to go any further. So. Wake up."

"That's…" He blinked. Once. Twice. The tacky room was gone, along with the demon, and the black void was back. Only, this was different. This time, he couldn't see his body.

"…What?" But he could feel it. Oh sweet Shinigami could he feel it.

"It hurts…" he heard his non-voice echo. This was worse, far worse. The void with no body, was this even the same place? The void had a floor of sorts. He could walk. He was whole and intact. He here was… just a voice, floating, drifting.

"Help me…" he was desperate. Even that demon was better than this.

"Which way is up and which is way is down?" He had to find some place, any place, find himself, his body, his life. Was there…

"A light? The exit!?" This felt familiar, but not. Like those visions, but different.

"No, Stop!" He heard it, someone else, not the demon.

"A voice! It's a voice! Maka's voice!" This was different. He had no body. He couldn't hurt her, not like those visions, no, not like that. If he could only see her, know she was okay…

"Wait for me! I'm coming right now!" He reached out and saw a hand, his hand, in the light. No, no… too late…!

"Soul!" The voice shrieked, panicked. "Noooooo!"

"Maka!" It was happening again, he was tearing out of her, tearing her apart.

"AHHHHHHHH!" He screamed, they both screamed. Then, he felt a hand. He saw light. He opened his eyes. Her saw her, whole and intact, a look of concern clear on her face, bent over him. Relief flooded him and he laughed. He couldn't help it. It was different, it was okay. It was ridiculous. So he laughed.

"Soul…" Her voice was questioning, concerned.

"I'm fine. I just had a bad dream is all." And it was true. Even as he felt the pain searing through him and had to fight back a grimace, he really was fine. Just fine. He hadn't been dead. She was alive, he was alive, it was fine. Unless he fell asleep and woke up to find this was yet another stupid vision, it was really, really fine. That little demon shit had told the truth. He saw the doctor, Medusa, hovering over him and she said something, who cared what. Maka just looked relieved.

It was over and he wasn't a failure. He wasn't in limbo or hell or his head. He had saved his meister. Cool.


	2. Number 1 Crush

**A/N: I promise these won't all be so fraught-I took this where the song took me. "#1 Crush" is by Garbage. It's a pretty damned cool song that features in a pretty damned cool movie. This takes place after the end of the manga, and thus contains spoilers, fair warning. **

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**#1 Crush:**

_Violate all the love that I'm missing_

_Throw away all the pain that I'm living_

_You will believe in me_

_And I can never be ignored._

When it came right down to it, this was all her father's fault. Or maybe her father and her mother's fault if she were being completely fair. Their partnership, their disastrous marriage, his cheating, her abandonment. It had formed her, shaped her idea of life and relationships. If not for them, on so many levels if not for them, she could never have ended up here and now and so damned confused about what she was supposed to do. About what she even wanted to do.

Her mother the scythe meister, her father the death scythe. All she had wanted was to show she was better than that cheating asshole, to show that his tainted blood couldn't hold her back. That's why she had ended up with Soul as a partner in the first place. She had initially wanted a female partner because she knew men were pigs, but even more than that, she had wanted a scythe because her mama was a scythe meister and her papa was a scythe and, damn it, she was going to do better. Soul had been the only scythe in their class, so he had been her first choice by default. His being a boy, his dark piano, his odd looks, his caustic ways, his strange mask of self-confidence that she would later discover hid a deeply ingrained sense of inferiority-these things could not have frightened her away, driven as she was. If anything, she saw it as a greater challenge, to make this strange boy into a death scythe better than her worthless papa, and she welcomed that challenge.

How silly she had been, looking only to her parents, measuring her existence, her worth, only by their actions. There was more to life, so much more, she knew that now. Yet, without that obsession, would she have chosen Soul to be her partner that day? Would she be here now, with him, facing this fear? Facing it head on, like an onrushing tide, like a freight train with no breaks? No. No. Would it have been better that way? For him? For her? For them both? There was too much good there, too much between them for her to say yes. Far too much. Trust, loyalty, friendship, feelings. Too many good times, too many bad, too much they had seen and been through together, always together. She tried to imagine her life with another weapon. She couldn't. Even the thought of it felt like betrayal and left a bad taste in her mouth. And yet, she could not face this. Even with Soul she didn't know how to face this. She wanted to laugh at how much that reminded her of Crona, but the thought of her lost friend made her heart ache. Loss. She has seen so much loss.

She wanted to run away. To flee. To hide. Perhaps she _was_ her mother's daughter. Isn't what she had always fought so hard to be? Isn't that why she had become a scythe meister to begin with? And of course, that had led her here. Now. Utterly frozen in fear.

But no-no-she wasn't Kami Albarn, she was Maka Albarn and Maka Albarn did not run from her fears, she faced them.

Soul kept his eyes on her, her hand held firmly in his. He knew what she would be thinking, how hard this would be for her to face, she could see it in those startlingly red eyes, feel it along the edge of his soul reaching out for hers. She felt his fear and his care and his hope and that other thing she was afraid to name, afraid to acknowledge, yet had felt and known for so long without being willing to see it for what it was because that would that mean they really were barreling down the same road her parents had travelled and she couldn't face such an end, especially not with Soul. The very hint of that, of that end, that pain, rent her heart to pieces.

Yet she knew she had to face this. He had finally dared to speak the obvious, to make it beyond ignoring, to drag it into the bright light of day where it must thrive or die. Which would it be? What did she even want it to be? If it died here and now they would never be the same, never be Soul and Maka again. Yet to let it live was to face future pain, worse pain perhaps. Why had he done this to her, to them? Why had he forced this? Couldn't he have left well enough alone, have let their strange, awkward, comfortable equilibrium stand?

And yet, part of her understood it, because in spite of it all, she felt it too, that longing, that need. Yes, she needed to face this.

She lifted her eyes to meet his, her gaze steady.

"What did you say?" She saw annoyance flash across his face and he blew out a loud breath, his free hand raking through his hair in frustration, before schooling his features back to neutrality with visible effort.

"I said I love you, Maka. And that I'd like us to try dating, if you'll let us. It would be cool. We're already cool together, right?"

She sighed.

"That's what I thought you said." What did she want? Did she want this? She loved him, of course she loved him even if she never, never wanted to see it, to admit it. To deny this now that it had seen the light of his acknowledgement would destroy them. But she was afraid, so afraid, that he would become like Spirit. That whatever he felt for her would cease to be enough, that eventually, he would betray her and that would hurt, hurt far worse than if she ended it now, before it began.

And yet, wasn't it already too late? Wasn't her heart long since his? She would hurt, either way she would hurt, but was it fair to him, to them, to never give them a chance?

No, no. She couldn't hurt him with a lie, even if it sealed her fate, even if it meant pain and pain and pain in some not so distant future. And he wasn't Spirit. He had never so much as dated another girl, even though they weren't together, even though he got countless requests every week. Other girls fell all over themselves for him, and yet he had never shown the slightest interest. All for her, because of her. Had Spirit ever been like him? Somehow she didn't think so and it gave her the tiniest glimmer of hope. Maybe this could work. Maybe.

So she nodded, slowly, deliberately.

"Alright." It was quiet, almost inaudible.

"Cool."

For him, who knew her better than anyone, better even than she knew herself sometimes, it was enough, and as she saw that sharky grin spread over his face and felt his hand squeeze hers she thought maybe it really would be okay. Hadn't they faced worse than this together? She was Maka Albarn, Three Star Meister, he was Soul Eater Evans, Last Death Scythe. They had defeated the demon sword together, faced the black blood together, slain the witch Arachne together, even faced and helped to contain the kishin Asura together. Always together.

She felt herself lean in to hug him almost involuntarily, drawn to him, ever drawn to him, and as she felt his arms around her, as she circled her arms around him, she somehow knew they could face this, too. They could face this strange, terrible, wonderful thing called love. They could face it, and her demons, as they had faced kishin beyond counting, and win because they were Maka and Soul, Soul and Maka, and because they were together.


	3. Read My Mind

**A/N: This is a companion piece to "#1 Crush;" it's the same situation, written from Soul's viewpoint. The song that served as inspiration was "Read My Mind" by The Killers. I've been fairly obsessed with it for the past week and this is where it took me. How Blair wormed her way in there is beyond me, but there she sits. ****Enjoy!**

**I'd love feedback if you liked it or even hated it; I can only improve my craft by knowing where I've done well and where I've butchered it. Thanks to those who have reviewed; I appreciate it and I'm glad you are enjoying it so far!**

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**_Read My Mind_****:**

_It's funny how you just break down  
Waitin' on some sign  
I pull up to the front of your driveway  
With magic soakin' my spine  
Can you read my mind?_

He was tired of playing this game, of waiting for her to say or do something, anything, to give him a sign. He was tired of ignoring the obvious, of shoving down his feelings and watching as she shoved down her own. He was just plain tired. It had gone on long enough and if she wasn't going to do something about it, then damnit, he was. At least, that was the plan. Executing that plan without suffering death by Maka Chop was another matter entirely.

This wasn't the first time Soul had wanted to say something, not by a long way. He had taken a long, long time to come into a decent awareness of his own feelings. Years of friendship and partnership, of being too close for too long, made extricating the standing affection he had for her from the more long developing feelings of love (and let's face facts, lust) nearly impossible. Realizing that his shift from only noticing what she lacked to what she most certainly didn't, from teasing her about fat ankles to staring at her mile long legs, from deriding her appearance to mentally obsessing over every part of her, these things had taken time. Truth be told, derision had _always_ been a mask for feelings that he had considered _uncool_ in all the ridiculous self-absorption and anxiousness of adolescence, but for him to come to realize how he _really_ felt, how he had come to feel over time, well, that had been a long process in itself. What had happened in the book of Eibon, the thought of her leaving him, that had nudged him, hard; it had forced him to face the potential for a life without her, a hideous, misshapen half-life. Soul simply could not see himself without his meister anymore. Their struggles afterwards, the increasing danger, the very real possibility of losing her on the moon, all of these things had only cemented those feelings. Soul would only ever be a shadow without Maka. Perhaps that had not been an easy thing for a cool guy to admit, but cool guys also didn't lie to themselves.

Realizing was one thing, however; acting on that realization was a different matter entirely, particularly when there was another person involved. Even more particularly when that person was Maka Albarn and his meister. Soul knew and knew well that however much he could sense about how she felt, there was a total disconnect between feeling and thinking when it came to Maka; as much as she could plunge headlong into the stupidest situation in the middle of a fight, she overthought _every fucking aspect _of things when it came to their partnership. He knew it came down to fear and independence and that asshole Spirit, but that didn't mean that he knew how to get around it, and for a long time he had just waited and watched and hinted and figured she'd eventually come around because the way they felt about each other was a clear as the noontime sun on a cloudless day. But waiting wasn't easy, and Soul was getting pretty damned tired of all the innuendo, of everyone thinking his and Maka's joint love life (or lack thereof) was their business. How many snide comments had he gotten from Black*Star, from Liz, from Patti? Hell, even Kid and Tsubaki had chimed in, albeit in a more calm and just-trying-to-be-helpful way.

The friendly concern he'd sidestepped and the jokes he'd ignored, brushing them off like he brushed off the dozens of girls who took an interest in him, but who had long since had no chance of catching his eye. And even the attentions of his fan club had diminished because there didn't seem to be anyone left at Shibusen who didn't know that he only had eyes for Maka except for maybe Maka herself. Hell, he was pretty sure even she knew and just wouldn't see it for what it was because she was _Maka,_ the girl with the compassion to embrace even someone as broken as Crona and the courage to face down Asura, but who was so emotionally stunted when it came to the idea romance that she refused to acknowledge the very idea of loving someone, even someone like Soul, who he damned well knew she trusted with her life, her soul, her everything. The last of Maka's trust issues over him had been erased in the Book of Eibon, yet here they still were. _Fucking Asshole Spirit. _

He might still be waiting if not for Blair. _Blair_ of all people. Though overly affectionate and constantly trying to ensure his death via blood loss, the magical cat generally stayed out of things that weren't her business, leaving her roommates to deal with their own issues. That is, until the day she decided to join in on the _why the hell aren't Maka and Soul an item_ bandwagon and confront him. He was planted on the couch at the time, eating some ramen and a watching game of baseball on the tube; Maka was out nerding it up at her bimonthly book club and he was enjoying the alone time.

Blair had wrecked his solitude by hopping up on the couch, stretching towards him on the next cushion over with her head on her paws, and looking up at him expectantly. So much for alone time. Then she had to go and complete the intrusion by talking.

"So, Soul-kun? Where is Maka-chan today?"

"You know she has book club every other Saturday." Blair had lived with them for long enough to have their schedules pretty down—even she wasn't _that_ dense.

"That's right," she was still peering up at him with something like expectation. It was unnerving. "Why do you never go, Soul-kun? I'll bet Maka-chan would like it."

"Maka-ch…Maka would most certainly _not_ like it, and I don't want anything to do with that nerdfest. What would I do there, watch the walls?"

"Are you saying you don't like spending time with Maka-chan?"

"I'm her weapon. I spend _most_ of my time with her." This was getting ridiculous. What was their stupid roommate trying to get at?

"Yeah, but don't you think Maka-chan would like it if you went somewhere together, somewhere she likes?"

"We go almost everywhere together." Blair let out a huff of something that sounded suspiciously like exasperation and didn't say anything for several moments. Finally, she spoke again.

"But you never go on _dates_ together." She pushed. "I think Maka-chan would enjoy going on a date with her scythe-boy." Ah. So that's what she wanted. Soul wished he could disappear into the couch cushions rather than have this conversation with anyone, especially their oversexed feline roommate. Well, he had sidestepped Kid and Tsubaki. Surely, he could sidestep Blair, too.

"Maka isn't interested in dating," he shrugged, his eyes glued to the television. "Neither am I, for that matter." Strictly speaking, it was true. He didn't want to _date_ Maka—he wanted much, much more than that word could possibly convey. Kid and Tsubaki would have left it at that. But not Blair.

"But don't you love Maka-chan?" Soul began coughing and sputtering. He had just taken a bite and noodle and liquid flew everywhere.

"What makes you think…?" He choked out, slamming his ramen down on the coffee table in front of him and glaring down at the meddling cat. Because yeah, only an idiot couldn't see the writing on the wall that they had feelings for each other, and yeah, to say he loved her would pretty much be an understatement, but no one else had asked so bluntly and he felt uncomfortable and exposed.

"Please," the cat rolled her eyes. "Half of Death City thinks you guys are an item or should be, you think your roommate is that silly, scythe-boy? But it's more than that." Her amber eyes were serious; Blair was never this serious. It was disconcerting. "You remember when we met?" Her tone was casual, but the implications were anything but.

"How could I forget?" He had long since ceased blushing over the magical cat, had even ceased the nosebleeds, but he blushed now because she was trying to make some sort of point about Maka, that much was clear.

"So you remember what you did, what you said to Maka-chan before you turned on me?" Blair never, never talked about how they had taken one of her lives. It was water under the bridge as far as they were all concerned.

"Yeah…" he said, not understanding or wanting to understand what she was getting at.

"That was when Bu-tan knew scythe-boy loves Maka-chan."

"Whaa…?" He sputtered. That didn't even make sense. He had had no clue himself back then, and yeah, if he squinted hard enough then he could trace his feelings back that far, but only just.

"Love is my stock in trade, scythe-boy. Bu-tan is a temptress; it's what I do. The only men who don't fall hard my charms are the ones whose hearts are already taken. Soul-kun turned on Bu-tan back then because you already loved someone else, and by your words, Bu-tan knew right away that someone was Maka-chan. Bu-tan didn't understand why then, because Maka-chan seemed so violent and you two bickered so much that I thought it must be some kind of fluke. But every attempt Bu-tan made to turn scythe-boy's eyes my way you refused, and then I knew. Maybe your body responded, but your heart was elsewhere and you pushed Bu-tan away. And these days, Bu-tan can't even get a physical reaction out of her scythe-boy." She pouted a bit at that. A cat pouting was almost comical and Soul would have laughed if he didn't want to run, far and fast. Yet something glued him to his seat, transfixed. He didn't quite understand where she was going with this, not exactly. He said as much.

"My point is that I knew you were in love with Maka-chan even then, and living with you guys only made it more obvious. And it wasn't long before Bu-tan could tell Maka-chan loved her scythe-boy back, and I thought for sure my two little kittens would get together before long. And then? You didn't. But Bu-tan thought that was just because there was so much going on with Crona and Asura and making you a death scythe. Then, Crona was gone and Asura was defeated and here you are, still not together. It's… ridiculous!" She almost screeched that part. "How can you two feel that way and never share it? Never be together? Bu-tan knows love and you two love each other. Bu-tan knows sex, and you two _want _each other. Bu-tan wants her kittens to be happy together. Don't you _want_ to be together?"

"What the hell, Blair? How is this any of your damned business?" He stood up and loomed over her. He was seething, tired of the world thinking his love life had anything to do with them. Why was everyone so concerned about this? What the hell could it possibly matter to them? Why couldn't they just leave it the fuck alone? The cat had sighed at that, and in a puff of smoke, she was beneath him in her human form to be better able to meet his gaze. She patted the cushion next to her, the one he had only just vacated, in invitation, and he deflated, sinking back into it. He was more pissed at himself and the whole fucked up situation than anything. It wasn't fair to take it out on her and he knew it.

"It's my business because Bu-tan cares about Maka-chan and Soul-kun," she said softly. "Bu-tan wants to see her kittens happy, and it seems like Maka-chan will never cross that line. She's too afraid." Blair looked sad and he was floored; the playful cat was never sad. "Bu-tan couldn't talk to Maka-chan because she would never listen, and I kept hoping Soul-kun would do something, but he never did. So then, Bu-tan thought Soul-kun might listen, so here we are. Because Maka-chan and scythe-boy don't get nine lives like Bu-tan does. Maka-chan and scythe-boy only get one, and they face danger every day. I just don't want to see my kittens lose their chance."

Soul sat there, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water for a few seconds. For this to come from Blair—_Blair_ of all people. Just… what the hell?

"Why…now?" he managed finally.

The cat woman shrugged. "Bu-tan meant to for awhile, but I needed Maka-chan to be away. It was the first time for a long time Maka-chan was out, Bu-tan wasn't working, and Soul-kun was home."

"Oh," was all he managed. His head was spinning. It wasn't like he didn't _want_ to do something, 'cause he did. He just didn't want to die or piss Maka off so badly she pushed him away. But Blair was right. They fought kishin daily; they could die tomorrow and they both damned well knew it. It was stupid, really fucking stupid, to keep up this song and dance, this ridiculous charade that they'd both maintained for far too long. Carpe fucking diem—he was going to grab onto this and not let it go if it killed them both. Wait, _carpe diem?_ Shit, Maka's nerdiness really was rubbing off on him. Well, so be it. He loved that about her, how damned smart she was. If his cool rubbed off on her, and her nerd rubbed off on him, weren't they both better for it? That was why they were so cool together. Plus rubbing together was sort of what he was aiming for…

"Alright," he finally shrugged, forcing himself to focus. He definitely wanted to keep this low key. Blair blinked at him.

"Alright?"

"Yeah, I'll talk to Maka. Happy?"

"YEEEESSS!" she squealed and hugged him, smooshing his face into her ample assets. He took it stoically, because he had way too much else to think about, like how to do this without getting brained to death.

In the end, he had reasoned that there was no good way to ensure he wouldn't get chopped to oblivion. So he decided to just go for it. That's what cool guys did, wasn't it? They went for it?

He waited until the following afternoon. Maka insisted on periodic extra training on Sundays—"to keep us sharp," as she put it—so they were at school, and since they were the only two idiots stupid enough to be training on a Sunday (even Black*Star had the sense to limit his workouts to home on the weekend,) they pretty much had the place to themselves. They had just finished eating lunch, some sandwiches packed from home, and were sitting on their favorite balcony at the edge of the training grounds, the one that overlooked the city. Both had been quiet for some minutes, Maka thinking about Shinigami knew what, and Soul silently fretting over what he planned to do. Finally, he steeled himself and took the plunge; it was better to just jump in and get it the fuck over with. So he grabbed her hand, forcing her attention, and as she looked at him, questioning.

"Soul?"

"I don't want to do this anymore."

Well, that wasn't exactly what he'd meant to say. Shit. Her face shifted from confusion to something approaching despair, and he knew he had to keep going. "All this ignoring how we feel bullshit, I've had enough. So here it is, on the table: I love you. I love you, and I think we should be together, maybe try dating like regular people, if you'd be cool with that. Because I would." Not the most elegant execution, certainly not what he had rehearsed in his head a few dozen times, but it got the point across. And now came the wait. Her body went rigid, her hand in his stiff, and her face was a blank mask, but he could feel the emotions, the confusion, swirling within her through the link they always shared. He damned well knew this wasn't going to be easy, not by a long way, but like a Band-Aid that had been on just that bit too long, it was better to rip it away in one stroke lest everything keep festering. He couldn't keep the worry and hope and other mix of emotions off his face, but it hardly matter; they were linked. She knew what he was feeling.

Her internal battle continued. He couldn't read her mind, they weren't resonating, but he could feel her emotions swing from one extreme to the other, her fear and frustration at war with other, deeper feelings. He hoped those feelings, Maka's feelings for him that he had begun to recognize some time ago through their connection, would win, because the thought of the alternative was frightening. The idea of her leaving or of their bond breaking over him pushing this when she wasn't ready fucking killed him and part of him began to back pedal, to question. Why had he listened to that damned cat again? He pushed the doubt away; it could do no good, now. He needed to sit through this, to wait, to be his meister's rock even as he had caused the storm she weathered if they were going to make it to shore. Soul squeezed her hand reassuringly, just to let her know he was still here, that we would always be right here because that was where he belonged.

The silence stretched into minutes that felt like hours, her gloved hand hot and still in his own, their linked hands a lifeline for them both. Then finally, finally she spoke.

"What did you say?" He couldn't keep the annoyance from flashing onto his face. He had bared his heart and this was what she had to say? He let out a loud breath of frustration, his free hand raking through his hair agitation, and then forced himself to calm. At least she wasn't screaming or running or braining him with a book. This was progress, at least where Maka was concerned.

"I said I love you, Maka. And that I'd like us to try dating, if you'll let us. It would be cool. We're already cool together, right?"

She sighed in response and he struggled to keep his face neutral, fear inching up his spine and spreading into his stomach.

"That's what I thought you said."

She was silent again, face still a line of thought. She wouldn't meet his eyes and he wasn't sure he wanted to meet hers. The fear spread, from his now churning stomach, down his legs, up his arms, to his fingertips, to his very toes. He felt like he might be sick, like he might lose the contents of his lunch over the Death City skyline. He had to stay calm. This was Maka. Maka overthought everything when it came to him and to _them_. This didn't mean anything, not yet. It would be okay. It would. And then he felt the shift that he hadn't paid mind to, too wrapped in his own momentary fear, the turn in the tide of her emotions, and the sickness was replaced by hope, welling from his stomach in a pleasant wave. Then she nodded, slowly, deliberately.

"Alright." It was quiet, almost inaudible.

The relief, the sheer elation he felt was almost palpable in the air between them. "Cool."

He knew what it must have cost her to come to this, the internal demons she had needed to exorcise, had known when he began. This agreement, quiet and simple as it was, meant everything. Maka would give this a chance. She loved him enough to give him a chance, to give them a chance. For Soul, that was more than enough, because she was long since his fucking world. He squeezed her hand, a massive, shit eating grin plastering his face. He couldn't help it. He wasn't dead and, unless he was entirely reading things the wrong way, his meister had just agreed to become his girlfriend. It was a paltry title compared to what she meant to him, what they meant to each other, but it would do for now.

Soul was surprised when she leaned into him, and his arms responded automatically, snaking around her to draw her close, her arms snaking around him in response. As he held her, as he felt her content, her hope, her love through their connection, he knew he'd done the right thing, that this was going to be okay, that Maka had faced down her fears and won. It didn't mean the path would be smooth, but hell, when was it ever? Soul's heart soared and he ventured a kiss on the top of her head, looking forward to a time very soon when he could venture further, to her mouth and beyond, because he wasn't going anywhere, and now he was certain, entirely certain, that neither was she.


	4. Horse and I

**A/N: This is a fantasy AU short inspired by the Bat for Lashes song "Horse and I." **

* * *

**Horse and I**

_The smell of redwood giants.  
The banquet for the shadows.  
Horse and I, we're dancers in the dark._

The girl wasn't sure what had woken her. She usually slept so soundly, even in the midst of the woodland they traveled. Early on, so early on, she had figured out that the armor would keep her safe, even in sleep, and she let herself rest. Their road was long, the days full of toil; she took what rest she could get. Perhaps it was a snapping twig, broken by a careless woodland creature, of a gust of wind through the leaves that had brought her back to awareness. Whatever it was, Maka could not go back to sleep, so she sat up. Her gaze moved to the sky. It was a cloudless night, the moon full and round and perfect. A night just like the one in which it had all began. She let her eyes stray down from the beauty of the night, seeking the reassuring presence of her horse, her one loyal companion on this long, fruitless journey, and started when she realized the creature was no longer tied to the tree where she had left him. She began to rise, a puzzled frown working her way onto her features.

The horse had been her sole companion, given to her along with the sword and armor when her journey began. The creature was uncanny in his perceptiveness, warning her of danger long before she could sense it, comforting her when she felt most lost, listening to her and almost seeming to respond as she puzzled through this strange trek, this task she still did not really quite understand. It had been there that night, there on the riverbank as the disembodied voices sung her fate, a part of the gifts to the chosen one given of the shadows and the light. She had named him Soul, the name a whisper in her mind from somewhere at the very edges of consciousness. Somehow, it just seemed right.

Soul was her one constant now, always with her, always there, always right where she left him. With his sleek white coat and mane, piercing, otherworldly red eyes, and teeth far too sharp to be normal for his kind, the powerful warhorse was her battle companion and friend. Yet now, he was gone, and for the first time in months she was utterly alone. The fear washed over her in waves. He was tied to the tree. He should be here. Right here. And yet, he was nowhere. She drew her blade with a quiet snick; her armor she slept in, always ready, the magic within making it light as a feather, comfortable as any soft clothing. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. She padded over to where the horse had stood, silently, carefully. The rope was on the ground, untied, hoof prints the only sign the creature had ever been there. The hoof prints made a trail into the woods and she followed it. She needed to find her horse, her Soul.

As she walked, the sharp, musty smell of the redwoods surrounded her, invading her senses with every step. She alternated between keeping her eyes on the trail of prints before her and raising them to scan the forest all around her. She had no sense of danger as she should were it present—yet what if the armor wasn't working? She needed to be cautious. She needed to know what had happened to her horse. She reached a small clearing and the hoof prints vanished, yet there was no horse. Her frown deepened. It made no sense. Only magic could explain it, which worried her. This threat must be dire indeed. She looked around where the trail had gone cold and noticed human footprints. They had not come with the horse prints, yet they started where the horse prints ended. She shook her head, her confusion mounting.

"Where are you Soul? What happened here?" She said it softly to herself, yet heard a rustling from somewhere above almost in answer. She looked up into the thick canopy of evergreens blanketing the sky above her, attempting vainly to peer into the darkness. She thought for the barest instant she caught a flash of white among the branches, but it was surely a trick of the shadows.

She let out a sigh of frustration, of despair. Gone. Her horse, her only companion through this long, lonely journey was gone and she was alone in the black. The despair threatened to choke her and she balled her free fist, willing it away, willing herself to think. There must be some answer. Soul had not just disappeared, could not have simply disappeared. She heard another rustling, this one closer by, and peered once again into the tree before her. This time, she was sure she saw white, barely visible in the shadow, a shape vaguely reminiscent of a man taking form under the scant moonlight admitted by the thick canopy of redwoods above her.

"Who…who's there? Did you take Soul? Did you see who took him?" She called out to the person, or perhaps to nothing since the shape could as well been a trick of the eyes.

She heard a sigh, unmistakable, from the few feet above her where the shadow rested and knew it for no trick, then tightened her hand on the hilt of her sword.

"Nobody took your horse." The shadow finally spoke. His voice was deep and rumbling. Maka took one step back, and then another, raising her sword in front of her.

"Who…who are you? Do you know what happened? How do you know no one took him?" She tried to sound commanding, but she knew her voice was shaking. She felt so alone, exposed and helpless without her constant companion even with the sword she wielded and the armor she wore.

She heard more rustling, watched as the shadow shimmied down the tree to stand a scant few feet away. In the faint moonlight she could see stark white hair and what looked like, but surely could not be, bright red eyes. A dark cloak obscured the rest of him. She kept her sword raised, kept several feet of distance between them.

"I know," he said very quietly, his intense gaze never leaving her own. "because I am Soul."

"No," she whispered, "that's not possible," even as the change in tracks, even as his white hair and those piercing eyes came together in her mind, even as the feel of his very presence screamed truth to her. She began to back further away from him. She had to get out of here. This wasn't right. This must be a dream. Her horse… her only friend…

He was reaching out for her.

"Maka…" he breathed, "you need to calm down. You need to listen." She panicked, whirled around, made to sprint into the dark forest, and found her head smacking against a thick, low limb she had not seen, had not even been looking to see, in the inky black surrounding them. Her head spun and she felt consciousness slipping away, felt strong arms reach for her and catch her before she could fall, felt the blackness take her, and hoped if this was not her horse that this was a dream because she was now at the mercy of a stranger.


End file.
